Shadows
by GalInTheMoon
Summary: When personal information from Hawkeye's leaked S.H.I.E.L.D. file becomes the news of the day, Steve has questions, but will Clint have any answers? Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

This is my first time putting something I have written out there. So thank you for giving it a shot! Just a heads-up I make Clint and Natasha speak the way that feels right to me. Translation: they cuss...a lot. Also, Clint is hearing impaired in this story, as in some of the comics. It's pretty much the focal point with some extra character spice thrown in. My goal was, in a lot of ways, to show that he is even more b.a. because of that. I really hope you give it a chance. I suppose, I should also mention there is a love scene at the end. But it barely rates as such. It's really short (seriously, like three sentences) and more along the lines of, _hey this is what they're going to do_, other than _bow-chicka-bow-bow _(if you get my meaning). So I didn't think it warranted a rating upgrade, but please PM me if you strongly feel otherwise. Not beta read so all mistakes are on me. Alright, I'll shut-up now. This was fun to write and I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, not a one, blast it all.

**Shadows**

By: GalInTheMoon

It was afternoon in Manhattan. The sunlight of late May danced through the Avengers tower, casting every surface in a promising warm glow. Barton walked from the wing within the tower mansion that held the bedrooms, toward the kitchen, with Steve following close behind.

He had just left his room after taking a shower to find Steve waiting in the hallway for him. "Can we talk?" He had asked. "Sure Cap." He walked past him, hoping they could talk and walk. He wasn't one for whispered hallway conversations, and he was hungry. They had taken down the latest monster to raise it's ugly head the night before. Worn out, most of the team had opted to crash at the tower. He had overslept, was sore, and starving. He turned around once in the kitchen and faced the taller man. "What's up?" He asked before digging through the fridge.

"Steve, Clint. Listen I,..." He stared at the agent a moment before continuing. "I know about...I know that..."

Clint interrupted, eyebrows raised, grinning, "That I drink out of the milk carton?" To prove his point he removed the jug and took a swig.

Steve shifted, frowned, "You...No. That's disgusting by the way." He shifted again. When he was too slow to continue Barton hopped up on the nearby counter and asked, "What is it then Capi?" The grin faded somewhat.

Steve frowned and looked up at him. He wanted to say, _it's Steve Rogers, pick one or the other, but stop calling me Captain already_. Instead, he moved on, "The S.H.I.E.L.D. files are being released by the hundreds daily."

"Yeah." Barton shrugged, it had been going on for months now. Steve watched him for a moment as the archer grabbed an apple from a nearby bowl, and juggled it in his hands. He stared back at Steve, waiting for the other man to get to the point. When still more time passed, all of thirty seconds, he raised his brows and chomped into the fruit.

"Your personal file was released this morning." Steve spit out waiting for a reaction but none came.

"Okaaay." Clint finally said around a mouthful of apple.

"Anything you want to say?"

"Nope." He slid from the counter and began to walk away, "That it?"

"Yeah. Well no..."

"You read it?" Barton asked, as he turned to face Steve again. A wicked grin spread across his lips. It was a look that oozed a challenge, a what-about-it dare.

"A little." Steve looked down, not that he was intimidated by the archer, but he felt the weight of guilt at his own impropriety.

"And?" Clint questioned, the challenge still dancing upon his features. Steve wasn't backing off though. Sure, Maybe he completely agreed with the edge he saw in Clint's eyes. He understood not wanting to be called out by a friend, a colleague at least, about personal information that was already being used as fodder for public entertainment. But he wasn't going to sweep any questions he had under the rug just because he was uncomfortable asking them, or because Barton threw some attitude his way. He would face him man to man. He would ask his questions and let Barton say his peace. He respected him enough for that. "Why didn't you say anything..."

"About what exactly?" Clint interrupted before Steve could finish, but backed off a little when he could see the other man's resolute sincerity and his lack of aggression. This whole S.H.I.E.L.D. is Hydra, better start a cleansing fire b.s., was becoming a real cluster-fuck for him.

"Your hearing." Steve finally said, shifting uncomfortably.

"My hearing?" Clint's grin widened and he seemed to genuinely relax, "I gotta say Cap out of all the things in that file I'm a little surprised that's what you're having a hard time accepting."

"It's Steve, Clint, for crying out loud. And I didn't read your file. That's all they're talking about on the morning news. It's in the paper too. I only read what they released." He paused. "I just don't understand why you wouldn't tell us something that..."

"Affects the team?" Barton presumed the rest of Steve's point. He couldn't help it. This was the first he was hearing of the media focusing on that particular piece of information. It made him bristle uncontrollably.

"That's not what I'm getting at."

"What are you getting at then? Not questioning my ability to do my job are you Cap?"

"Of course not. I'm questioning why you wouldn't be upfront about it."

Clint watched the apple as he tossed it up and down, "It doesn't change anything. Anyway, S.H.I.E.L.D. had a way with the latest tech." He tapped his left ear, with the hand holding the apple, "best aids a super secret, super intelligence organization can buy." He shifted, "Why would I say anything?"

It seemed obvious to Steve. A team needed to be clear, open, solid as a group off mission to be effective on it. Barton keeping something like this from them was, in Steve's eyes, irresponsible and dangerous. It whispered of descension if he were to take the thought to its worst possible conclusion. "Team bonding for a start but..."

"Go team go huh."

"Something like that."

Barton slapped Steve's shoulder, "No thanks." he said, as he started to walk away.

"That's what worries me Hawkeye." He rose his voice after Barton, choosing his codename since he had seemed determined to only use a form of Steve's. Clint turned, all trace of humor gone from his face, "Excuse me?"

"I am questioning if you're a team player and you're not giving me much to have faith in."

Clint walked back to him deadly serious, "I'm there when it counts."

"Are you? Because it's not all about what happens out there." He pointed over Clint's shoulder.

Clint's jaw tightened as he glared at the other man. The tension had reached a breaking point just as Natasha stepped around the corner, "Hey boys." The words rolled off her tongue. Steve turned to give her his full, respectful attention, but Clint continued to shoot daggers at the back of his head. There was more he wanted to say but held his tongue.

"Steve." She said with a slight smile as she glanced behind him at Barton, "Clint."

"Natasha." Barton said through gritted teeth as he let his gaze drop to the half eaten apple grasped in his hand. He was almost surprised he hadn't smashed it between his fingers. She grabbed a sheet of paper from one of the drawers in the table in front of her and looked for a pen. When both men continued to watch her she looked up, all innocence, "Am I interrupting something?"

"No." and "Nothing." they said over-top each other. They exchanged a look before Barton sneered and walked away. Steve watched him go and when he turned Natasha had moved closer. He shook his head, "I don't get that guy sometimes."

"What's to get?" She said it without hostility but it wasn't exactly a question either. She was writing something on the paper now pressed into her palm but looked up at him, "He's good at what he does Rogers, the best."

"I'm more than aware of that." He stood up straighter, frustrated at the miscommunication.

She continued writing, "Did you read all of it?"

She didn't need to explain, he knew she meant Barton's personal file. She had heard enough to put two and two together and so had he. "Just what they put in the papers. Didn't seem right to read everything."

She nodded and handed him the paper in her hand, "Maybe read a little more." She slowly released it from her grip and walked away in the direction Clint had gone. Steve looked down at what she had handed him. There wasn't much on it, just some page numbers and the words, Shadow Whip. Steve looked in the direction the Black Widow had gone.

The conversation had not went how he wanted at all. He liked Clint, but Barton was the type to hang on the outskirts, to watch, it was part training, and part a natural tendency. And so, despite himself, Steve held onto a nagging feeling that Barton was waiting to see how this whole Avengers thing played out. It had just been a lingering concern, until he saw Clint's hearing deficit in bold, undeniable print. The revelation only served to cement his fear that the man held back too much. Shouldn't his team have known? Didn't they need complete honesty now more than ever? Why be slippery with the truth? He understood, on a personal level, not announcing things you held as private, but as a soldier, as an officer, he felt they didn't have that luxury. Everything needed to be on the table. The team should have known. He should have felt like he could trust them.

He had seen for himself the amazing things Barton was capable of. Before that he had worked for Shield, for seven years, with his hearing compromised, and they hadn't pulled him from field work. His ability was not in question. He had just wanted to address his fears man to man. Get them out in the open and give Barton a chance to show him he was wrong. That he was in it for the long haul. That he was a solid part of this team. What he had gotten was near proof of the opposite. That one day they would assemble and find Hawkeye had found other places to be. Steve hoped he was wrong.

He looked at the paper Natasha had given him again, flicking it along his fingers, before walking in the direction of the computer he loathed, and to the leaked S.H.I.E.L.D. files within it. Maybe he would find something more substantial there than fading hope.


	2. Chapter 2

**Shadows**

By: GalInTheMoon

Natasha caught up to Clint as he grabbed his coat and was headed for the door. "Leaving?" She asked after him. He turned to look at her, apple core held between his teeth as he pulled on his brown workman's jacket. Arms in, he grabbed the fruit and tossed it dead-center into a wastebasket on the other side of the expansive room. "Going for a drive."

"Want some company?" She asked.

He shrugged, "Sure."

She reached past him and grabbed her leather jacket, "You know driving in this city is more of a headache than a pleasure?"

"Better than hanging around here with my head up my ass."

"Just do me a favor and don't drive with it up there." He huffed in response as they headed out of the tower and down to the parking garage beneath it. Barton's motorcycle was parked in it's usual spot. The machine pulled at him like a lover and he smiled. Romanoff followed him silently to his third love. Where exactly her place of adulation fell in the bike, bow, broad triangle she wasn't sure. She had decided long ago she was fine with wherever that was as long as she was the only broad in the equation. They hopped on the bike and shot out into the street. Barton weaved through traffic as Natasha sat upright behind him, her hands on either side of the seat beneath her. She didn't care where they were going. She watched the traffic cautiously but knew Clint would see anything well ahead of her and react with more than enough time. She let go, leaned forward into his back, allowing a rare moment of honest affection in the light of day.

He drove out of the city, into the suburbs, and out into the rural hills before stopping. He had always preferred being out of the cities, away from the populace when he needed to think or breathe. She knew that about him, as well as she knew he would not talk to her, not right now. She had tagged along but this was his time, his space. He would collect, restore, and return to her. He would let her in on his thoughts, once he had processed them into as neat, and tidy a package he could. She understood it all too well. That wasn't to say she didn't have a tendency to pull on the strings before he was finished wrapping it all up.

Once they stopped, hours later, it was beside an empty field. They made their way into the tall grass. He sat on the earth silently taking in the fresh air, the clear sky, the birds hopping from tree to tree at the fields edge. She could see his reverence for this peace. She watched the world before them and dealt with her own thoughts, and waited. When he finally spoke it was one word exhaled more than said, "Heaven."

She agreed out of courtesy more than consent. She preferred the bustle of cities. The disorganized order and action did for her what this serene landscape seemed to do for Clint. She awoke in the movement, the flow of humanity, the momentum brought her into focus. He looked at her and smiled, "You hate it."

She shrugged before looking back at the field and treeline, the sloping hill before them, "It's not hate."

He chuckled, "Well it's not love Tash."

She shrugged again but smiled. "I like it for what it does for you."

His smile faded a little as he looked at her before looking forward again. "I could live out here."

She stole a quick glance his way, smirking, "You would get bored eventually and we both know it."

He shook his head and smiled, "Nah, but you would."

"You wouldn't?" She stared at him.

He looked at her seriously, "No."

She raised a corner of her mouth and cocked an eyebrow, "hmm."

They sat in silence a moment. Their respective thoughts going in different directions before hers returned to what had brought them out here in the first place. "So what was Rogers giving you a hard time about?" She asked, though she knew.

He shook his head, "I make him nervous." He looked at her, "Too hard to read." They shared a knowing glance. "He's just trying to be a good leader." He added as he looked away.

"You can always count on Rogers trying to be good." It was an attempt to lighten the mood at Steve's expense, she smiled, but Clint didn't return the gesture. Instead his brow creased, "I've been a good partner right? I mean professionally."

"Of course."

"I've never given you a reason to doubt me?"

"Only your fashion sense." She looked him in the eyes. He grew silent, the jab ignored, and so she talked, "We work in shadows Clint. It's what we're trained to do. A man like Rogers may understand it but he will never _get_ it."

"He's a good man Tash. Him not _getting_ us isn't a very comforting thought."

"Not _us_, but what we do. There is a difference Clint. Anyway, your goals are the same, just two sides of the same coin." She grabbed his hand. "You know it's true."

"But does he?"

"He will."

"You think."

"I know." She watched him, "This has nothing to do with his doubt. This is you questioning yourself." She rubbed her finger along his earlobe, "You know I'm right."

He looked at her, "That doesn't help."

"It's been seven years. You've proven any doubts unwarranted more times than anyone can count. When are you going to give yourself a break?"

He squinted his eyes and rubbed his hand along his hair, "Yeah." He leaned back into the grass. "It's only been six active."

She rolled her eyes and laid back beside him. Her red hair glowed in the lowering sun. "Points the same. You don't trust yourself and that distrust spreads like a disease. You have to stop."

"Without Shield and their techs..."

"Fuck Shield and their techs. You're here, damn it Clint, I'm here, alive, because of what you can do out there. Without any aids, without any handlers. You don't need them to do what you do!" She took a breather, watching him.

He avoided looking at her. Choosing instead to watch the birds in their endless shuffle from tree to tree. After a while he exhaled, "Shit Tash, I don't know." He rubbed his hand through his hair, "Maybe, I don't know...maybe..." He audibly sighed, "Nineteen. I was a month into nineteen when Coulson pulled me into S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Going on thirty-nine." She said it like she was sharing a confidence with the birds that seemed to have both their attention now.

"Points the same." He echoed her words.

"Which is?" She questioned

He shook his head, "Shit if I know."

She could guess but she wasn't about to fill in any of the blanks for him. He would have to come to that all on his own if it were going to mean a thing. She looked up as a plane laid down a straight vibrant orange cord across the darkening abyss. Orange and pink bubble gum clouds were forming on the horizon. Frustrated with the conversation going nowhere she moved on, "So what will you do now?" She knew she could be abrupt, she was who she was, Clint knew it too.

He followed her line of sight, the plane catching his attention, "Now that my file is out there?" She didn't respond, there was no need. He shrugged, "Go on."

Again she said nothing. After all, going on was their only option. What more was there to say. They, unlike their super-human, super-genius counterparts had nothing else to fall back on. They were spies, assassins, agents of a corrupt agency. Their allegiance could be seen as questionable, suspect, even criminal. Steve had unwillingly proven that. For them there was no other realm to go to, no deep pockets to smooth the wheels of justice, nor were they legendary heroes (pillars of truth, justice, and the American way), the only ace in their pocket was that they could become invisible. It would only cost them everything.

So while the others could be seen as above reproach, or at least above prosecution, they were all too easy a target. They were too flawed, too blameable, too human. The tide of public opinion was turning against them with every file released. People only saw the destruction left behind, not the villains beaten, the disasters averted. If there was a justice system that wished to judge any member of S.H.I.E.L.D., or the Avengers for that matter, they made too perfect a lamb (or bull with blood tipped horns depending on your perspective) for the slaughter. The only thing in question was how easily either one would go down the martyr...again.

As these thoughts ran through both their minds, Natasha broke the silence, "Staying at the tower?"

"Mostly. Nowhere else to go with everything FUBAR. You?"

"Like you said. Where else are we gonna go."

They grew silent again. She was thinking of New York, the Avengers, Steve, moving forward. What would come next, where would the next threat be? He, however, was thinking back. Back to green fields, endless pasture, a farmhouse left to him in Iowa. In the midst of the present chaos, all the nightmares left there were nothing compared to the hope it offered. Would he ever follow that last thread that held any chance of peace despite the memories that stained every inch of its delicate fiber? He couldn't help but wonder.

"You should talk to Stark." Her words interrupted his thoughts.

"About?" He scrunched his brow. He genuinely liked Tony, he did, but their conversations always ended borderline confrontational. Two stubborn smart-asses do not make a right, and too often their conversations ended all wrong.

Her gaze remained heavenward, "Maybe he can work on your aids."

He glanced her way as she turned to look at him, "They're pretty damn good as-is Tash. Not sure there's much room for improvement. Even for Stark." He looked back to the sky. She followed suit, shrugging as she did, "Someone needs to keep them that way."

He heaved in a breath, silently conceding the point.

"With the S.H.I.E.L.D. techs..." She dropped it. There was no point in stating the obvious or going back _there_. With Shield disbanded all the advancements made, all the technical support was gone. If his hearing aids malfunctioned or simply wore out he would have to go back to the standards. If he could, what with the surgical augmentations made within his ears. Whatever the case, it was a grim thought, and they both knew it.

"I'll talk to him." He added dreading the inevitable necessary conversation. It was anyone's guess how Stark would handle it. Snarky, curious but indifferent, or genuinely helpful were Clint's top guesses. In that order. There were times the man was just tiring.

"Do you remember Moores?" Natasha asked, distracting him from his growing anticipatory regret.

"Moores?" The name wasn't familiar.

She looked at him like there was no way he could honestly have forgotten _The Man Moores_, before repeating, "Moores."

"Got it Nat. Not ringing any bells."

She frowned at him. "He was the first tech Fury brought in." There was an unsaid Duh at the end of that statement but Clint let it go. There was a lot about that time that slipped his memory. He couldn't get caught up in it.

"Okay." Was his only response.

Natasha nearly giggled, nearly, but didn't. She was not a giggler, "He was scared shitless. Seemed to think if he didn't find the cure for hearing loss entirely he would be removed with prejudice."

"Was he wrong?" Clint half joked and half honestly wondered. Everything S.H.I.E.L.D. touched was veiled in doubt now.

"Transferred." She smiled because what she was leaving unsaid was the arrogant, easy way Moores said Clint would never hear clearly again, never be field operation ready again. That no hearing aid could ever efficiently make up for all that he had lost. She smiled because of the sheer happiness she had felt watching him leave with his tail between his legs. After a junior tech whose life he had made miserable beat him to the punch, proved him so wrong, and built the revolutionary prototype that would restore Clint's hearing to the normal range and leave Moores without a job. Ah sweet, sweet karma. Not that she believed in any of that shit.

"Sounds nicer." Clint added, still not convinced there wasn't a missing tech geek that should be weighing on his conscience.

"It was nicer than what I wanted to do to him." She said it without looking at him or losing the devilish grin. He stared at her. How he appreciated this woman. How he had come to need her without even realizing it was happening. He watched her, feeling the end of an era. After all they had gone through with S.H.I.E.L.D., after so many had fallen, for it to be nothing more than a note, a mark in their history. He was left sentimental. If only for a moment. It felt as if they were the last two survivors standing in the middle of a natural disaster. Their home left in unrecognizable bits. And maybe, just maybe, he was realizing that Natasha had been his only real home all along. He would have to deal with the feelings that revelation bubbled up in the pit of his stomach later. They were partners, friends, often lovers, but partners first. He had to focus.

She slapped the back of her hand across his gut, "Don't look at me like that."

"It's been a long ride."

"It's not over."

He looked at her harder, "The game's changed. We're almost obsolete."

"Speak for yourself."

"I'm serious Nat. We've dealt with some crazy shit but it's bigger now. It's all bigger now."

She turned to him, returning his steady gaze, "We're just exposed now Clint. Everything is. It'll make you feel small."

"I'm not talking about S.H.I.E.L.D. or our secrets. Monsters and magic Tash. Remember? How long before we're outclassed? How long before the Avengers decide they need super-beings more than whatever-we-are now?"

She looked away. She saw his point. How would they survive being attacked on so many fronts? First by their fellow man and then by the unknown monsters lurking outside the door. What would be left for them? What would be left of them? It was all bigger than anything they had faced alone or together. Unfathomably big. Maybe it was all too big for the likes of Hawkeye and the Black Widow. How the hell was she supposed to know. What was she supposed to say?

But she knew part of what was tearing at him was her betrayal though he denied it. His file was hanging mid-air in front of him like a bullet leaving the chamber in slow motion, and she had fired the gun. He had to feel betrayed. It had to be an all too familiar ache. It was an act of betrayal that shared faces with all his darkest demons. He was struck yet again by the hand of one he trusted the most. She had given his personal demons a massive shot of HGH (or would that be DGH) and until they were beat down everything else they faced would be that much larger, that much harder. So for better or worse she side-stepped the unanswerable in favor of the things they could face head on. The things they had to face before they could ever hope to find answers to the rest. Her guilt, and his buried anger about her part in his potential destruction. "I did this Clint. I exposed us. I sacrificed us for the greater good."

He looked a little confused by her apparent lack of understanding, "I know Tash."

"Then why aren't you angry? Why aren't you yelling at me?" She hated the plea she heard in her voice but she wanted him to rage. To get it out. Hit her with it now while she was ready and before it ate at him till nothing was left but his resentment.

He shrugged, "I would have done the same."

Damn it, he was brushing it off. He was consoling her and that was not at all what she was going for. So she pushed a little harder. "You would have called me in first. You would have given me a heads up at least."

"Maybe, if it were an option." He frowned and rubbed at his hair.

"You would have found a way. You sure as hell wouldn't have left me to claw out of the rubble alone." She put a hand near his leg.

He caught the gesture and looked up at her. The frown still creasing his brow but his suspicion was growing. "You had to and you're here. Now."

"But _we_ have to live with it." She stared at him and he stared back. His eyes darting back and forth as if he could read her mind through her irises. He sat up slowly, his anger seeping through, not at her words but at her suspected motives. "Don't do that. Don't give me that bullshit Nat. You know I stand by the decisions you make in the field. We don't always have the luxury of time or niceties. Damn it, talk to me about something we can change! If you just want to be beaten over the rocks you'll have to look elsewhere. I'm not fucking doing it. "

She sat up as well. "I didn't give away your grandma's secret recipe Clint. I exposed everything you are or have been. Every alias, every safe house, every mission we were involved in. God Clint even the bounty on your arm is public knowledge! It's just a matter of time before they'll be coming out of the wood-work! Every secret we have lived within is out there! It's all going to come back at us. They are going to hunt us down. How can you not be mad at me for that?"

"The choice had to be made." He stated flatly, his jaw clenching, as he watched her hand upon his leg.

"And I'm the one who made it. Can you live with that?"

He stared up at her a long moment. "I have to don't I." He finally said. Taking a deep breath, he stood, wiping any stray dirt or grass from his pants as he did. Natasha couldn't help but notice he wiped twice where her hand had been. "Lets go." He said. The peace was lost.


	3. Chapter 3

**Shadows**

By: GalInTheMoon

Back at the tower Steve was reading through the pages of Clint's S.H.I.E.L.D. file Natasha had written down. He had scrolled past everything else. He wasn't one for digging through people's dirt out of idle curiosity. It just wasn't right. So he still hesitated when he came to the first page. It was a mission report written by Agent Coulson. He immediately recognized the mission title as the words Natasha had written down, Operation Shadow Whip. _Nice to see some things never change. Like mission names being ridiculous_, he thought. It must have been a fairly serious operation. There were a lot of boots on the ground and eyes in the sky. They were going in in the dark of night, quick and hard. However, much of the file had been redacted. Many of the details were blacked out, but what was there was all Natasha had wanted him to see.

Coulson credited Barton with saving more lives than one man should have been able to and with finding the weapon the mission was named after. Albeit in the least optimal way. He went on to describe how mission complete, Barton was performing a last sweep for strays, and stumbled upon a high tech booby trap. What would later be dubbed a sonic landmine. That landmine was the Shadow Whip. An undetectable, state of the art, almost poetic in its capabilities sonic explosive. It was exactly what the S.H.I.E.L.D. higher ups were looking for. Though they had failed to inform all their people on the ground of that little tid-bit.

The shock wave had been enough to level the top floor of the building he was clearing. Everyone in a two-hundred foot radius was left with permanent tinnitus. Barton was on the roof at the time and was lost in the rubble for an hour before being found. Unconscious and condition unknown he was airlifted out and to the nearest S.H.I.E.L.D. medical division facility. Once again Coulson made note of Hawkeyes large part in the success of the mission and the number of agents that would be returning because of him, including Coulson himself. His extreme disapproval in so many, once again, himself included, being left in the dark as to the real missions purpose. His resignation pending agent Barton's condition. It became clear that at the time Coulson had written the report Barton's chance of survival was in question. Steve swallowed and looked up the next page Romanoff had written down.

It was a medical report. Much of it was hard to read. Details Steve was beyond uncomfortable knowing. The blast wave ripped through Barton's body. The list of damages went on and on. Mostly to his lungs, stomach, intestines, and so on. In and of themselves they were survivable, but together they were life threatening, deadly dominoes. The most distressing injury simply because of what it would mean long-term, if he survived, was the damage to Barton's ears. The blast wave had blown his ear drums, shattered the small bones of the middle ear in both ears, fluid had leaked. Worst of all the tiny hairs within the inner ear that served as sound receptors/transmitters were sheered away, he was for all purposes deaf without any hope of recovery.

Once the report went into his three day coma, his continued confusion on waking, the aphasia that made recognizing the words they were writing, what they were trying to explain to him, nearly impossible for weeks, Steve stopped. Barton had obviously come a long way from those times. That was all he wanted to know. Notes were made by the nurses about his multiple visitors. The outpouring of support from many in the organization. He was liked, or at least appreciated, respected, that was obvious. There was more. Months of hospital care outlined. Surgeries, therapy. Steve scrolled down. Some things were private. Some struggles should only be shared by choice or not at all.

He moved on to the next page written down. It was an evaluation performed four months after his release from the hospital and near direct drop off at a desk in S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. It was a status evaluation. Conducted on behest of Clint, to evaluate his ability to return to field operations. It went on to outline Barton's recovery, inactive status, followed by placement on light duties to be decided by his supervising agent. Barton was eager to prove he could get back in the field, on mission. However, it was determined after a physical exam, psych evaluation, and field trials that his abilities were too compromised. He was returned to a desk.

He requested another eval only a month later, and another a month after that and so on for the next six months. With only one month being missed without explanation. He was determined. Steve had to give him that. It was interesting to note that although Barton had been issued S.H.I.E.L.D. designed hearing aids by his fourth attempt he was opting to test without them. Despite the evaluators permission of their use. Steve couldn't decide if Barton's motives stemmed from the man's endless stubborn streak, arrogance, pride, or a sense of responsibility. Whatever the reason Steve believed it to be admirable. If Barton were to go in the field, if he were to be cleared, he would do it without relying on anything but himself. That choice just didn't give him a break or cut him any slack. But it would also prove what he was capable of without leaving room for questions or doubt. A one-two punch to any nay-sayers. Somehow, it didn't surprise Steve at all. There was an undeniable ferocity in the archer's spirit. His will seemed without limits.

Finally, after the sixth try he was cleared. It was another three months before he was actually given an assignment. It was at Coulson's discretion to send him out and he had chosen to wait a little longer. Steve smiled at the memory of Phil Coulson. Though he hadn't seen the two men interact, he had known them individually, knew of their friendship, and could imagine the arguments that would have arisen in those few months.

The next page was another mission debrief. His first mission in nearly two years was as support, back-up for the Black Widow. She would go in, get information, and lure the mark out. He would keep guard and neutralize the mark non-lethally when the widow had given him the go ahead. The three would be picked up at a designated spot, at a designated time. It was a simple in and out, and it went off without a hitch. As did the majority of missions from then on. If there was a hiccup, a slip, a snafu the blame was rarely, if ever placed on Strike Team Delta.

Against the odds Hawkeye's record was spotless from then on. It would seem playing against the odds only served to focus Barton. Maybe it was having something to prove.

Steve rubbed his eyes and shut the laptop. He pushed away from the desk and walked to the kitchen. He could use a thick cup of Joe. He stretched and looked out at the city lights outside the tower windows as the coffee pot gurgled and popped behind him. He would talk to Barton, apologize. It was clear he had misjudged him. He may eventually walk away from the Avengers but while he was here he would be steadfast. That much had become obvious.

Time slipped away from him as he stared, lost in thought. As the last drop of coffee fell into the pot, Jarvis announced someone was coming up the elevator. He walked over to the security monitor and flipped it to the elevator feed. It was Clint and Natasha. Steve turned off the monitor, poured himself a cup of black coffee, and headed to the common room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Shadows**

By: GalInTheMoon

When the elevator doors pinged open Natasha and Clint stepped out faces neutral. She squeezed his arm, "I'm going to change." She said as she disappeared down one of the hallways. Barton looked toward the common room, toward Steve. He hung his coat up and made his way toward him. Plopping down, slouching into one of the chairs, he kicked his feet up onto the nearby table, and laid his head back. Just as the silence was about to become awkward Jarvis announced someone was coming up the elevator. The two men shared a glance but neither got up to see who it was.

Soon the doors pinged open and Tony's voice rang from the open doors. "...so I'm thinking does he know about the snail on his shoulder, is it, like a fashion choice? Should I say something?" Pepper laughed and slapped his shoulder, "You are terrible." She was beaming as she looked to the two faces staring back at them from across the room. Tony followed her line of sight and shrugged when he saw the two men staring back at him. He walked toward them and Pepper followed.

"Evening boyscouts." He glanced back and forth between them, "Exciting as ever?"

Clint turned back around, "Hey Pepper." He said over his shoulder.

"Evening Clint." She smiled. Steve was watching Tony. Tony was returning the gesture with his own smirk added for good measure, when Pepper added, "Steve."

Steve smiled at her, "Ms. Potts." He glanced back at Stark, "Tony."

Peppers smile widened. Tony glanced at her, raised his eyebrows, bounced on the balls of his feet and rocked back on his heels. She rubbed his cheek and kissed him before disappearing into a side door. The trio remained silent for another moment. Clint looked at the palm of his right hand with intense interest. While Steve sipped his coffee, staring over the brim at Tony. Still fidgeting himself, Tony could take no more, "Well this is a blast and not at all awkward but uh..." he looked Pepper's direction and nodded after her, "I'm going to..." He didn't finish before disappearing as well.

A moment passed before Steve leaned forward in his chair, cradling the mug in his hands, "Listen Clint. I feel I owe you an apology." He lifted his head to look at Steve. "I questioned you without just cause."

Barton kept his eyes on the other man, "I get it. No apology needed."

Steve looked down at his hands, "I read more of your service record." If he was going to apologize he was going to be sincere about it.

"And?" Barton's tone was disinterested if not tired.

"I was wrong to think you were anything but a part of this team."

Clint raised his head, he had begun rubbing at his forehead, "Why would you think..." never mind he thought, move on. He sighed, "I didn't say anything about this." He gestured to his ears, "Because if it were a problem I would be the first to..."

"Clint..." Steve interrupted but before he could continue Barton cut him off.

"walk away. Do you think I would risk the safety of anyone on my team?"

"Clint." Steve repeated but Barton was on a roll. He kept his voice low and even as he continued. "No way in hell. I may keep my business, my business. I may work from a distance but the men beside me are my first priority. My top priority is their backs. it's your back. This..." he carefully removed the small hearing aid from his left ear. "You don't have to..." Steve said but, being ignored, he dropped his head as Barton moved to his right ear, "...changes nothing."

Steve looked up, "I know Barton."

Clint sat back in his chair, "Oh yeah?"

"Yes." He paused to discern how much Barton would catch. When the other man raised his eyebrows impatiently, he continued, "I understand the situation more now. I was wrong." He took a deep breath feeling as if he couldn't explain himself, "I'm not one for the cloak and dagger act. I've never trusted what isn't clear-cut, right in front of me." Barton shifted as he continued, "But that doesn't mean you deserve my suspicion. You are a good man Barton. Your actions have proven that. I'm ashamed I didn't see what was right in front of me and I'm sorry."

Barton watched him a moment, shaking the aids around in his palm, before saying, "We're good then?"

"We're good." Steve answered.

Barton watched him a beat. Steve felt as if it was his turn to be sized up as Clint came to some secret conclusion, "Apology accepted Cap."

"Steve."

"Eh." Barton shrugged. He shifted in his seat again. "You met Phil Coulson right?"

Steve nodded mournfully, "I did. He seemed very dedicated."

"Best man I've known." Barton added, "He's the reason I have these." He continued to shake the hearing aids in his hand, "Threatened to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. if they didn't make things right, one agent for the cost of two, if ya know what I mean."

"Make it right?" Steve took a sip of coffee.

"Faulty information bullshit. Walked into something they shoulda warned us about. Phil blamed the uppity-ups. Doesn't matter now." He shifted again. Every word felt thick and heavy as sludge in his mouth but he was confident he was speaking clearly, and he was. "He show you his cards?"

"The Captain America cards? He did." Steve still felt the guilt of not signing them while Coulson was alive.

"He tell you how he got them?"

"No."

"Figures." Clint shook his head, "Apparently, Phil's grandpa met you overseas during world war two. He was so impressed with what he saw he started sending those cards back home to his newborn shortly after." He paused a moment before continuing, "Phil's dad still had them tucked in a shoebox when he went down flying a chopper in Vietnam. They were Phil's first connection to him, his only in a lot of ways. He spent two years after they found you in the ice tracking down the missing ones."

Steve swallowed, "I'm sorry I didn't know." Clint dropped his eyes back to his hand at Steve's words. For no other reason than to hide the emotions that threatened to make themselves known.

Continuing to look down he said, "He would have stood by you to the ends of the Earth Rogers." He looked up, "I intend to do the same. For him... Just so you know." The just try to stop me, was implied, but so was the respect.

Steve was left speechless. It was more than he could wrap his thoughts or emotions around before Natasha came around the corner. It was debatable how long she had been there but at least she had the courtesy to actually change her clothes at an attempt to play out the ruse. She had their complete attention as she casually walked over to the kitchen and grabbed some grapes from the fridge before sitting with the pair. Steve noticed she chose to sit across from Barton, in a clear line of sight, rather than beside him. She tossed a grape in her mouth, "Everyone getting along?" She didn't give them a chance to respond before she said, "I'm putting on a movie." and flicked on the t.v.

"Any requests?" She asked as she flipped through the choices, glancing between the two of them. Steve shook his head no and leaned back in his seat, foot on his knee, cup resting on his ankle, thinking.

"Toss me one of those will ya." Barton asked none too politely, referring to the grapes in her hands. She nodded, broke off a branch and tossed it his way. She returned her focus to the screen, "How about..." and brought up classics, "..something we can all enjoy." She glanced at Steve who was watching the movie covers slide by with growing interest. When Robin Hood with Errol Flynn came up she smirked and started it. She glanced at Clint who rolled his eyes at her joke.

"This should be good." Steve announced.

"Seen it?" Natasha asked.

At the time this movie came out he was a kid taking care of a sick mother and raising himself. At the tail-end of a depression with a war on the horizon. A movie was a rare treat. Hearing the intro, seeing the bright technicolor, for a moment made him feel like the same small, struggling sixteen year old he had been. Sneaking into the theater, being transported to a world so foreign from the reality he knew. It was an odd sensation to be so close and so far from that time in the same moment. To feel this time-warped, confusing, survivors guilt. But there was no need to explain all that. Steve quirked his mouth sheepishly, and simply answered "Nah."

Clint watched the odd play of emotions cross Steve's face. He shook the loose hearing aids in his closed palm. He wanted to pop them back in but it wasn't much of an option. He cursed his lack of forethought. He would have to wash his hands, wipe the aids off, and he needed his specially designed, handy-dandy, one-of-a-kind tool to put them back in. He actually should have used it to take them out but he was proving a point damn it all. He had to be careful though the very thing that made them so effective also put him at risk for ear infections. Normally a mild enough thing, but an infection meant swelling, and swelling meant no hearing aid. That was something he preferred to avoid. Hopefully he hadn't already shot himself in the foot. Coulson would've called him an idiot, smacked him upside the head, and sent him off to put the damn things back in already, he grinned inwardly.

Without comment Natasha turned on the captions. He glanced her way and she winked back. Steve didn't react to their appearance, instead, he continued to watch the old movie in a state mirroring rapture.


	5. Chapter 5

**Shadows**

By:GalInTheMoon

There was a part of Clint that enjoyed the challenge hearing next to nothing presented when it was by choice. It was an exercise in environmental awareness, and it had paid off many times over in his line of work. So when he noticed little things like all the reflective surfaces in the room gave him a three-hundred and sixty degree view. Including the security monitor which flickered when there was movement at one of the sensors. Or that the pointless decorative lighting dimmed ever so slightly when Jarvis spoke. When he learned everyone's tell. Their thoughtless reaction to information that they would be hard pressed to hide even if they realized they did it. The super assassin and super soldier being no exception. He had to smile, had to pat himself on the back. He was so clever. It was why, when he knew Banner was coming up the elevator at the same moment Steve and Natasha did, though he hadn't come to that knowledge by Jarvis' simple announcement, he had an especially large, if not somewhat arrogant grin.

Banner liked to have his coming and going announced. The more everyone was prepared and aware, the better for all involved, the green guy included. They were thirty minutes into Robin Hood when he quietly slipped in the door. He wasn't surprised to see the trio in front of him. The flip side of him having himself announced was he found out from Jarvis who was home as well. "Hello." He raised his hand and walked farther into the expanse. He stopped behind Barton's chair and watched the movie a moment. Steve didn't look his direction, but said "Hi Bruce." Natasha nodded at him, and Clint mumbled "Banner."

"How was it?" Natasha asked as much about the museum installation he had gone to see as the general experience.

Bruce took a deep breath, "Good. Really good." He smiled, "It was nice." He had chosen the late hour hoping to avoid as many people as possible.

Natasha smiled back. She had a soft spot for Bruce. She didn't know exactly why. Her cynical side nagged at her that it was just self preservation. She was just trying to get on the good side of the jolly green giant while the Banner window was open. But whatever the reasons she liked him very much. Maybe she related to having so much devastating rage tucked away.

Bruce started watching the movie once more, "Hey did the caps get stuck on again? I don't know why it keeps doing that." he commented to no one and every one as he sat next to Steve. They said nothing.

Once Banner was sitting Clint watched him a little longer than would have been normal, waiting for him to say something. The doc didn't notice as he watched the movie in silence, but it didn't last long before conversation started up. Clint stood. "Popcorn?" he asked as he walked out of the room. Unaware of the affirmatives behind him. Not that it mattered. He was going to pop enough for everyone. Getting the popcorn served two purposes. The first being to avoid getting pulled into a four-way conversation. (Some things were just not worth the effort.) The other was to give himself a chance to put his aids back in, discreetly.

But as he started the popcorn his stubborn nature came over him. He had taken them out to prove a point. Damn it if he would slip them back in for convenience. He saw movement in the chrome of the microwave and turned to see Natasha walking up to him. She wiggled a grape branch, "All out." She said as she slipped past him and rubbed her hand down his back. She opened the fridge and removed a few cokes, holding a can up in his direction by way of asking if he wanted one. He nodded, "Sure." She grabbed a fourth.

Pulling a tray from one of the cabinets she placed it on the counter and arranged the coke cans. Clint watched as she reached on her tiptoes for bowls on the top shelf. Her fingers grazed the bottom of the bottom bowl. "I got 'em." He said as he reached around her. She turned to face him as he brought the bowls down. "Thanks." she said. It was her turn to watch him.

He tried handing them over to her, but when she didn't take them he raised his eyebrows, "What?"

She smiled at him, "My hero."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Take 'em already." He pushed the four large salad bowls into her hands. She took them and placed them on the tray as Barton watched. She turned, "Popcorn's done chef." She cocked her head to the beeping appliance behind him. He walked over and removed the bag and tossed it onto the tray. Adding another while asking her, "How many?" She raised four fingers, sliding her body along the counter beside the microwave, as he keyed in the timer. He stepped back and grinned at her. She stared back, "I know what you're doing."

He feigned innocence, "Popping popcorn?"

She shifted, tilted her head, "You don't have anything to prove."

"Well I burnt the last bag so I kinda do."

She rolled her eyes and looked at him through her lashes. She stepped forward, putting her hand on his chest and reached the other into his pants pocket. She pulled her hand up, a small pouch between her fingers. He caught her hand, stopping her midway. "Tash."

Not truly restrained she raised the pouch in front of their faces. They both knew it contained his hearing aids. He had slipped them into it without much thought or effort as he came into the kitchen. "Stop being bull-headed and put them in." The words were firm but she had said it gently. The tone of her voice was lost on Clint, but he could read her face well enough.

She gestured at the growing snack buffet around them, "I'll finish here."

He frowned, taking the pouch from her hand, "I can do without." It was his last gasp of a fight. She rubbed her hand down his arm. His right arm, the one marked up and down with scars. She looked up and met his eyes, "I know." And she did know all too well what he could do, what he could handle. He would go the entire night without anyone thinking more than he was moody. No one unaware of his impairment would ever suspect the silence that surrounded him. Silence that was only pierced by a steady ring or the occasional incomprehensible sound. Those sounds that fell within his very limited range of hearing just enough to register, but not be made sense of. She knew too well all the things her partner could handle but that wasn't the point. There was just no good reason for him to try. Not this time, not here, not now, they were with friends. She turned away only to remove the popcorn that was beeping behind them.

He walked away as she tossed another bag in. He would give up the fight. It was all for his ego anyway, he told himself, and when had he ever won that one. "Be right back." He said without turning around to see Natasha's reaction. Tightening the pouch in his hand as he did. Behind him she silently finished what he had started and only glanced as he walked away.

As the hallway back to his quarters stretched before him he had to admit he was amazed how well she knew him. She knew why he had offered popcorn, why he had left the room. She knew he would never give himself the reprieve he was after. Not without a push. He was too stubborn for his own good. He was his own worst enemy. He would cut off his nose to spite his face, so the saying went. Or in this case he would struggle to enjoy a simple evening with friends to prove he could take on the whole world. It made no sense, but stubborn pride rarely did.

He made it to his bathroom and stared into the mirror a moment. "Idiot.", he cursed himself before shaking the small hearing aids out onto the counter. He washed his hands and wiped the aids with antibacterial cleaning cloths before placing them on a tray. He grabbed the small tool from his medicine cabinet and picked the aids up with it. The clawed end securely held the hearing aids while he pushed them into the surgically implanted receiver in his ear. With an audible snap and a whoosh of noise he knew they were in place.

He didn't get the science of how they worked, he was just grateful that they did. It had taken hours of delicate surgery connecting wires and receptors placed within his inner ear to his brain. All without any guarantee that when the rubber hit the road they would actually work. It had been hell to recover from. Weeks of recovery followed by weeks of waiting before they put the aids into the receptors. Over a month to discover if it had been worth it. And it had. The sound quality was amazing. There were no squeals, no tunnel affect, no metallic edge. It was as if he were hearing through natural tissue alone. To top it off there were no batteries to replace as they were charged kinetically. It was an amazing piece of work that he would never take for granted.

He thought of Natasha, watching and waiting as they put them in for the first time. How she held her hands behind her back, kept her features emotionless, all so that her nervousness wouldn't show, but of course it had. The way Coulson watched stoic and reassuring as ever. God, it was lifetimes ago now. A different life entirely. He picked up the pouch and put it back into his jean's pocket, just in case. After all sometimes a guy just didn't want to hear a damn thing. He stole another glance in the mirror. The glance became a stare down before he took a deep breath, rubbed his hand over his face, and left.

When he came back out Natasha was finishing up. Her arms loaded down, she was heading back to the common room.

"Hey." He called after her. She turned around. Her look questioning.

"Here. Let me take some of that." He said as he took the tray which was the bulk of what she was carrying.

She waited intentionally till he walked past, his back to her, to say "My knight in shining armor."

"Would that make you my damsel in distress?" He grinned without looking back at her.

She smiled, "Never."

His grin spread into a full smile, "Don't I know it hot lips." He stopped and waited for her to walk up to him.

"You are such an ass." She smiled up at him.

"mhm." He leaned down and kissed her. "After you milady." She walked past him, looking over her shoulder, "This isn't finished Barton."

"Promise?" He smiled and followed her out. "Hey Nat." He said lowly.

"Yeah?" She continued to walk forward.

"Thank you." He nearly whispered. Somehow there was more in the tone than those two words. There was an unsaid affection, three words in place of the two, that she would never forgive him for saying.

She stopped for a moment but continued without looking at him, "Shut up." Yeah, she loved him too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Shadows**

By:GalInTheMoon

The rest of the evening passed quickly. Tony made a short appearance only to grab something and disappeared again without a word. They talked for a few minutes once the movie was over but didn't take long to go their own ways. Banner went to the lab. He never tried to sleep until he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open. Steve went to his room. It was anyone's guess if sleep ever graced the man out of time and place. Goodness knows he would never trouble any of them with his problems. It was a trait he seemed oblivious to sharing with Barton.

Clint and Natasha went to Clint's room. There was no point in hiding they were partners with benefits. They were all big boys. They could deal with it. Anyway, she had more things in his space at this point than her own. It was just practical to sleep there. Not to mention his room smelled like him, it breathed him, and when she walked in she could inhale all of him. This was his domain within the avenger tower and it felt every bit the hawk's nest. Clint was private, he was hardened, and rarely let anyone any farther than his smart-ass exterior. But here his walls were down. Here he filled every corner and Natasha relaxed into him. This part of him was hers alone and to hell with what anyone thought about it.

She took a deep breath when they came through the door.

"Tired?" Clint asked as he walked in behind her, closed the door, and slipped out of his pants. He tossed them in the basket in the corner without looking. She stretched her back and raised her arms, eyes on him, "A little."

He mirrored her movements, "Yeah." He stopped mid-stretch and watched her, "Tash, about earlier."

"Don't." She'd had enough of the day's tension. She was done. She wanted no more words. No more looping, unproductive conversation. She began removing her clothes, letting them drop to the floor.

He watched her silently before walking towards her. She met him halfway. Removed his shirt, holding it above her head, and kissed him. She chose not to notice when she dropped his shirt behind her back and he caught it. Tossing it to the basket in one fluid motion without disturbing their kiss. He could not help his desperate need to control the chaos, she thought. Even when it came in the form of fucking laundry on the floor.

She pulled away from their kiss a moment. She grazed her fingers over the tiny surgical scars that ran behind his ears before running them across his earlobes. She began to kiss his neck and his chin before finding his lips. She could feel him rise beneath her as he lifted her up and carried her to the bed. They made love blissfully unaware that outside, below the Avengers tower, a man stood across the street. His body cloaked in the shadows of an alley as he stared up at the gleaming skyscraper that pierced into the night sky. A halo of clouds at its tip. He twisted a newspaper in his hand as the clouds opened and rain poured down. The ink from the article he had read so many times over ran through his fingers and down his wrist. Staining the sleeve of his shirt a grimy gray. He assured himself Clint Francis Barton would make an appearance eventually, and he could wait. He was a patient man.

The End


End file.
